Clash
by foreverabean
Summary: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy pit themselves against each other from the very first moment they entered Hogwarts. Who would have realized that the sharp tongues and rivalry were hiding something a bit unexpected? HP/DM one shot.
1. Part One

**Right off the bat, I'd just like to say that this will/may be a series of one-shots - they jump right into the world of Harry/Draco, and there is little backstory as to how their feelings started out. If you're more of a long backstory type of reader, this fic might not be for you. This chapter starts out with lines directly taken from _Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince _- I just end up filling in from there. The characters may not be depicted exactly as they were in the original story; this is my first shot at a fanfiction, and I really do hope no one comes after me with torches and pitchforks. **

**All characters belong to JK Rowling and the world of Harry Potter. **

**Enjoy!**

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><p><em>Continued from <em>_**Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince**, __"Sectumsempra."_

Outside the bathroom, he pressed his ear to the door. He could not hear anything. He very quietly pushed the door open.

Draco Malfoy was standing with his back to the door, his hands clutching either side of the sink, his white-blond head bowed.

"Don't," crooned Moaning Myrtle's voice from one of the cubicles. "Don't…tell me what's wrong…I can help you…"

"No one can help me," said Draco. His whole body was shaking. "I can't do it…I can't…it won't work…and unless I do it soon…he'll kill me."

And Harry realized, with a shock so huge it seemed to root him to the spot, that Draco was crying – actually crying – tears streaming down his pale face into the grimy basin.

Harry was seized with the sudden, overwhelming urge to step forward into the bathroom, to comfort Draco, to rest his hand on the trembling boy's shoulder. He teetered uncertainly on the spot, unnerved by the swell of emotion rushing through his chest.

Draco gasped in a long, shuddering breath and looked up into the cracked mirror to see Harry gawping at him from the bathroom door.

Draco whirled about, fumbling in his pocket for his wand. On instinct, Harry drew his own and pointed it at Draco.

"Don't make me jinx you," he warned, taking a deliberate step forward. "I didn't mean to intrude…"

"Oh, like you care," Draco spat, his thin face twisted angrily. Tears still glistened on his high cheekbones and Harry's gut clenched. "Prince Potter, _The Chosen One, _what would you care if you _intruded _or not?" His fingers clenched and unclenched furiously, but Harry noticed that Draco had not drawn his wand.

"Look, I can just leave –" Harry began gruffly, glancing upwards to see Myrtle observing the scene through her pearly glasses, wide-eyed but, for once, silent.

"No," Draco snapped, cutting Harry off. He was breathing hard, his tongue running nervously over his pale lips. Harry stared, almost transfixed by the sight, and his wand hand trembled. Draco noticed where Harry's brilliant green eyes had strayed, and he rubbed his sleeve hastily over his mouth, his stomach flip-flopping unexplainably.

"Do you plan on pointing that wand at me all day?" he barked to cover up his inner turmoil, a scowl creasing his brow. He was out of breath – why was he out of breath?

Harry lowered his arm, glancing up once again at Moaning Myrtle. Draco followed his gaze and immediately ordered Myrtle to leave. She whined at him, opening her mouth to let loose some sort of god-awful shriek, but Draco, losing his patience, whipped out his wand and, with a loud bang, sent Myrtle flying down into the pipes again.

Harry analyzed Draco's agitation, the way his hands still shook as he tucked his wand back into his pocket, the way his breath repeatedly hitched in his chest, and especially how Draco's silver eyes kept flitting back to Harry.

"So," Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. "If you don't want me to leave, are you going to let me in on why you were crying?"

Draco hissed through his teeth, whirling away from Harry to stare into the depths of the rusted sink. He gripped the porcelain, wrestling with the anger and fear roiling inside him.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. He rubbed absently on at his left forearm, feeling the raised edges of the Dark Mark burned into his skin and shuddering against the tears threatening to overcome him.

Harry exhaled, aggravated.

Was Draco just _trying _to get under his skin? Stringing people along was not out of the proud Slytherin's nature, and yet… he seemed so vulnerable, tears glistening in his eyes, delicate fingers gripping the sink edge with enough pressure to snap bones…

"Draco," Harry said, and Draco flinched at Harry's use of his first name. His eyes flickered open to glare at Harry in the mirror.

"It's… it's _him_, isn't it?" Draco inhaled harshly, and Harry pressed on, feeling quite sure his previous hunches were correct.

"It's Voldemort, isn't it?"

Draco stared at him, parted lips trembling, holding out for one eternal second before he broke. With a strangled howl his knees buckled and he collapsed onto the damp tile, his shoulders heaving, his mouth open in a silent scream.

Harry froze for an instant before he shoved the door closed behind him and turned the lock. He waved his wand over his shoulder, muttered _"Muffliato,"_ so no one would come running, and stepped tentatively towards Draco's hysterical form.

"He's going to… he's going to kill me…" Draco sobbed, his words strangled by his tears. His carefully-slicked blond hair swung messily over his forehead and his fingers sought out the loose locks of hair and knotted there, nearly uprooting his scalp.

Harry knelt beside the distraught boy, unsure of what to do. Every fiber inside of him yearned to gather Draco into his arms and comfort him, but even the thought was ridiculous. He settled with a hand on Draco's back, but he writhed underneath Harry's touch and bellowed, "Don't TOUCH me!"

Harry yanked his arm back, teetering on his heels, shocked by the ferocity in Draco's voice. The next thing he knew, however, Draco was lunging at him, his thin fingers seizing Harry's wrist, yanking the Gryffindor onto his knees, and suddenly Draco's breath was on his face and his hand was fisted in Harry's shirt and _bloody hell. _

Their lips crashed together and it was clumsy, messy, completely undignified, but _electric_, much like the explosion of an atom bomb, and five years of pent-up tension came flying out, roaring in the boys' ears.

Harry's fingers knotted in Draco's hair, and Merlin's beard, Draco's lips tasted better than firewhiskey. Their teeth clacked together and Draco gasped as Harry exhaled heavily into his mouth, his fingers scrambling at his collar because he couldn't _breathe _worth a damn. His legs were cramping underneath him and he was pretty sure his knee was digging into Harry's ribs, so he lurched to his feet, dragging Harry up with him. Harry stumbled on the way up, pushing Draco into the edge of the sink. Draco hissed in pain as the porcelain jabbed into his spine but Harry was almost positive that he'd never heard a sound more intoxicating in his life.

Draco drug his fingers through Harry's wild black hair, enjoying how Harry leaned into him, how his inch or so height difference put Draco in control completely.

Harry yanked on Draco's Slytherin tie, trying to bring the taller boy down to his height, thrown off by how he had to stretch to keep their lips moving together. Having the lower hand was alien and strange; when he kissed Ginny, it was easy – he was the taller one so he was in control, but why was he thinking about Ginny? He was kissing Draco Malfoy – how was he thinking at _all? _Draco traced his tongue over Harry's bottom lip and bloody hell, he couldn't even _breathe _anymore.

Draco was not exactly an expert at kissing – Pansy Parkingson was good for a quick snog in-between classes, but he could only go so far with her, and anyway, she was a girl – weak. Not strong enough to force her will on him. But Harry was tugging on his tie, slowly gaining control of the situation, which Draco both relished and resented at the same time. He unwound the tie and smiled vindictively against Harry's lips as Harry's point of leverage slid limply into his hand. Harry's glasses cut into the bridge of Draco's nose as Harry angrily forced himself closer, and then he went and _bit _Draco's lip. Draco reeled backwards, tasting blood in both their mouths, his spine grinding painfully back into the sink. Chosen One _indeed. _

Harry felt Draco give a little, loosening his iron grip in Harry's hair, curving back over the sink, letting one hand fall to clutch again at the sink edge and the other to seize a fistful of Harry's uniform shirt. Harry took control, deciding to experiment a little now that he had the haughty Draco Malfoy under his command for what might be the first and last time. He pulled his lips from Draco's grinning dangerously as Draco groaned and let his head fall to the side. He trailed his lips over Draco's sharp jawline, breathing hotly on the side of Draco's neck.

"Watch yourself, Potter," Draco panted, and Harry cracked his eyes open to see Draco smirking down at him, his silver eyes dark and his pupils dilated, scarlet blood sliding down his chin.

Harry raised one eyebrow and bit down on the sensitive skin of Draco's throat, a triumphant laugh escaping him as Draco shouted profanities and jerked frantically at Harry's shirt. Draco crushed their lips together again and caught Harry's lower lip between his teeth. Harry inhaled so sharply he went light-headed and pressed even closer, feeling Draco's hipbones press into his stomach.

Neither boy could think as their lips moved together, their kisses hot and angry, filled with bottled-up resentment and frustration. Neither of them had expected the intensity or passion that had caught ahold of them, causing their breath to come in restricted pants and their skin to slick with sweat. Neither of them had realized that _this _was what those sly glances meant, what had come of their façade of hatred. It was overwhelming and exhausting and utterly _exhilarating, _and neither Harry nor Draco was thinking of the repercussions or the consequences, they were just thinking of each other, and how good and how _right _this felt.

Last but not least, neither of them expected how an instant feeling of loss would settle heavily in their stomachs when they broke apart and surveyed each-other, each mussed and unkempt, lips swollen and eyes burning with lust.

"Well," Harry gasped, his whole body trembling. His hand was still locked around Draco's tie, now slick and damp with sweat in his grasp.

Draco eyed him, lips parted, tongue darting out to swipe at the ragged hole in his lip.

"Well." he echoed. His hair hung in sweat-clumped strands over his forehead and his pale skin was completely flushed, which he was all too aware of as he saw his image reflected in the lenses of Harry's glasses. He snatched his tie out of Harry's hand and turned away to loop it once more around his neck.

Harry stood there, lifting a shaking hand to try and tame the hedge of black hair that stood up in every direction on the top of his head. Draco licked his lip again as he swooped the tie over itself, and Harry wanted nothing more than to yank him close again. But the time had passed, and Harry was feeling it with every tick of the clock.

Draco finished fastening his tie and paused, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, not really caring the blood that stained the white fabric. "No one hears about this," he warned finally, looking at Harry over his shoulder. "Not your ginger pal, not your Mudblood girlfriend,"

Harry almost laughed. Yes, of course, he'd be running off to tell Ron and Hermione all about this.

Draco glared at him. "I mean it, Potter," he snapped, trying to ignore the twist in his stomach as he stared at the cocky smile on Harry's lips. _God, _why did he have to taste so good? "No one."

"Or what?" Harry whispered, his fingers snaking under Draco's shirt. Draco inhaled, teeth snapping together audibly. But he regained his calm and smiled coolly at Harry. He leaned forward, teeth brushing at Harry's ear.

"You don't want to find out," he breathed, and the tickle of his breath made Harry shudder.

With a swift, wet, messy kiss to the side of Harry's mouth, the tall, haughty Slytherin strode out of the bathroom, leaving Harry staring at his own reflection and both boys completely and utterly unsatisfied...


	2. Part Two

**This is a continuation of my Harry/Draco one shot. Same principals apply as before (new to fanfic, not much backstory, hold the angry mobbing, etc). I'd like to say thank you to the people who left me lovely comments and asked me to continue to post this story - you all are wonderful. :3 **

**This chapter picks up again after a significant amount of time has passed - I make a few references to an enounter on the Astronomy Tower, and this is because my friend wrote a short piece that I continued off of and would have taken place between this chapter and the first. Basically, Harry and Draco had a rather heated moment atop the Astronomy Tower at the end of _Half-Blood Prince. _Just use your imagination.**

**All characters belong to JK Rowling and the world of Harry Potter. **

**Enjoy!**

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><p><em>Continued from <strong>Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, <strong>"Malfoy Manor."_

"They say they've got Potter," said Narcissa's cold voice. "Draco, come here."

Draco rose to his feet, his heart hammering against his ribcage. The line of bedraggled prisoners stood in a bound line beneath the chandelier, and Draco felt as if he must be at least as terrified as they were.

He did not want to look at these prisoners, at the boy suspected to be Harry Potter. He was absolutely terrified that it _was _Harry. He had not seen Harry since they were both half-naked under the green light of the Dark Mark on top of the Astronomy Tower, and he wasn't sure if his heart or his nerve (or both) could take seeing the boy now, especially under these circumstances.

Draco did not look directly at the prisoners, even when Fenrir Greyback forced the one suspected to be Harry right under the light of the chandelier. Narcissa pushed Draco forcefully towards the center of the room and Draco stumbled forward reluctantly.

"Well, Draco?" his father prompted eagerly. "Is it Harry Potter?"

Draco swallowed hard and finally turned to look directly at the figure in front of him.

The boy's face was huge and swollen, distorted to the point of being grotesque. He was wearing round-rimmed glasses over the tiny, squinted eyes, and Draco could see the glimmer of emerald green, even though the boy made no eye contact, and Draco's heart sank. The face itself was unfamiliar, alien, but Draco could see the familiar bony shoulders pressing through the tan jacket, the strong, firm hands clenched into anxious fists, the raven-like shimmer of the too-long hair, and damn it, there was the scar, stretched into a wobbly line; it was Harry, and Draco knew because he had felt Harry against his body, felt every single fucking line of Harry's bones under his fingertips, and nothing was unfamiliar. They had been together only twice, but it was enough. Draco knew.

He clenched his hands into fists, pressing his lips together in a valiant effort to remain impassive. Draco knew that this was Harry, and he was expected to tell this to his parents, so that they could summon the Dark Lord to kill Harry at last. His family would be rewarded; his father's honor would be redeemed. No longer would hey have to live in fear of Voldemort's angry retaliation. This was Draco's responsibility. He was expected to be the one to basically scrawl his signature on Harry's death certificate.

He couldn't do it. God, he _had _to do it. But he _couldn't._ He could not watch Harry Potter die. Perhaps it would be simpler – no more precious Potter to overwhelm his daydreams and torment him in his sleep. It would be a breakaway – a release – freedom. And yet, Draco knew if he allowed Voldemort to slaughter Harry in front of him, he would be tempted to jump in front of Harry, to die instead.

Fuck, how had this happened? How had Harry wrapped Draco around his finger with such ease?

It was so _unfair. _

"I can't – I can't be sure." said Draco. He wanted to avert his eyes from Harry, but it was so hard. It was so hard not to drink Harry in like a tall glass of lemonade on a sweltering day, so hard not to _fuck _Harry with his eyes, because those eyes had not caught a glimpse of Harry in _months,_ after their hasty goodbye on top of the Astronomy Tower, and _Merlin's beard, _Draco remembered every touch, every brush of their lips, and Draco knew that if he and Harry were alone, Draco would be unable to help himself.

But no, he couldn't think like that. This situation was serious – deadly so. Any slip in his façade and everything would be lost. Harry was teetering on the brink of a life sentence, as was Draco's family; Draco was holding all the strings, and if he made a slip, his puppet show was going to crash down onto the stage.

"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!" Draco's father insisted. "Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv –" Draco wanted to punch him in the face, anything to stop him from spitting out the obvious, because Draco _knew_, he was not fucking _stupid_; he was fully aware of what would happen if he said that yes, this was Harry Potter, and he knew what would happen if he didn't. Draco was almost grateful when Greyback cut in, though the sharp words Greyback and Draco's father exchanged were utterly lost to Draco, as he was drowning in the tidal wave of emotion nearly bursting out of his chest.

"…it could be the scar, stretched tight…" Draco was snapped out of his reverie by his father's fingers clenching around Draco's wrist. "Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?"

Draco took a deep breath and leaned forward, so he and Harry were nearly nose to nose, and oh my god, the insatiable urge to pull Harry into a burning kiss was causing Draco physical pain.

Harry's eyes flickered up to meet Draco's and, even as altered as Harry's face was by whatever jinx he'd gotten in the way of, Draco could see the emotion etched in every line of Harry's furrowed brow, in every line of his pressed lips, and _fuck_, Draco couldn't look at those lips right now, _especially _not now.

"I don't know." he said tersely, and he strode away from Harry to glare into the fireplace.

Draco's thoughts were a mess. He couldn't think straight and breathing was becoming a challenge. Memories were flashing through his mind; Harry's lips on his for the first time; Harry's hands on his bare skin; their breath mingling in soft sighs of contented passion….

The group in the room was arguing about something, but Draco couldn't concentrate on their jarring voices. His fists were clenched so tightly that his nails bit sharply into his palms, nearly drawing blood. What was he going to do? They were going to find out either way. There was nothing Draco could do to prevent their eventual realization. Either way, no matter which way this dangerous game of tug-of-war pulled, Draco was going to be torn apart. There was no way out. No escape from this.

"Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?" His mother demanded shrilly. Draco glanced over his shoulder, his eyes still glazed from the turmoil flying through his head. Hermione Granger stood with her shoulders hunched, her signature bushy hair in disarray, her wrist bound to Ron Weasley's. Weasley was glaring at Draco, trying to put himself in front of Granger, his hair almost comically orange in the otherwise drab room. Draco knew them, and he knew them well – there was no denying it; they had been practically attached to Harry every time Draco had chanced a wistful glance across the courtyard at Hogwarts. Draco disliked the pair of them with a passion – even his infatuation with Harry could not change that. But, as Draco gazed at them, he wished desperately that he could save them. He would try – he would continue to lie about their identity; he was going to try to save Harry Potter and his friends, even if it brought Voldemort's rage down on his family. He was going to risk it all, just for this scrawny, bespectacled hero, because Draco had reached the point where he could not imagine the world without Harry, without Harry's shining light in the wizarding world, and, Draco might as well admit it to himself: Draco was a coward, he always had been, and he wasn't sure how he would survive in the new, cruel world Voldemort had planned.

"I…maybe…yeah." Draco whispered. He gazed into the empty grate of the fireplace, his heart pounding fit to burst.

"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" his father shouted. "It's them, Potter's friends – Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name -?"

Draco closed his eyes in defeat, and took in a shuddering breath. "Yeah." he said flatly, just to get his father to shut up. He didn't even bother to turn around this time. "It could be."

Draco knew it was over. His parents were not idiots, and Granger and Weasley were not ones to fly under the radar. He would continue to lie, but the truth was going to come out, and no later than when Harry's face returned to normal.

Draco pressed his hand against the cool stone of the mantel to steady himself, growing lost to the increasingly heated conversation behind him. Draco closed his eyes and became entangled in his thoughts, in his memories, in the recollection of the feel of Harry's _skin…_ God, when had he become this pathetic?

A scuffle and explosion of spells brought Draco back to reality with a sharp jolt. He whirled around to see his aunt standing over the motionless bodies of what must have been nearly the entire group of Snatchers, her wand raised, a deranged look in her eyes. When had she entered? Had there been an argument? How long had Draco been standing here, rigid in front of the fireplace, running through every memory of Harry's bloody _breath_?

"Draco, move this scum outside," Bellatrix snapped at him, smoothing her coarse black hair back from her forehead. "If you haven't got the guts to finish them off yourself then leave them in the courtyard for me."

"Don't you dare speak to Draco like – " his mother began angrily.

"Be quiet!" Bellatrix screamed, cutting her off. "This situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!"

Draco eyed his aunt, his fingers clenching on the handle of his wand. She murmured under her breath, her eyes wild. Draco glanced over at the prisoners; Harry was staring right at him. Draco's stomach swooped and swallowed dryly, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. He wanted so desperately to say something to Harry, anything, to tell him that Draco would free Harry and his friends if he could, that he had missed Harry, tell him how much Draco thought about him, _anything,_ but it would not go unnoticed. Every single one of them was already balancing on a precipice, and Draco did not want to be the one who sent them completely over the edge. He was already bound to everyone, responsible for which way the ball dropped, which way the cookie crumbled. Bloody hell, now he was thinking in irrelevant metaphors.

The next events happened very, very quickly. Harry, Weasley and the rest of the prisoners were hustled down to the cellar, and Bellatrix had a hold on Granger and was holding a wand under the trembling girl's throat.

Draco suddenly felt sick. He did not want to see this. He had never exchanged a kind word with Hermione Granger, in fact, he clearly remembered calling her a Mudblood multiple times over the years, and sometimes he could still feel the sting of her hand as it made a pass across his face, but he did not want to see her tortured, he did not want to see her cry and plead for salvation. Draco did not want Granger to haunt his dreams the way Charity Burbage had. He wasn't sure if he could take that.

"We're going to have a little chat," Bellatrix hissed in Granger's face, her eyes dancing and her lips drawn back over her teeth in a crazed smile. "Girl to girl."

Draco looked away. He couldn't watch this. He tried to tune out what Bellatrix was saying, but there was absolutely no way he could escape the horrible, piercing scream that nearly rattled the chandelier above their heads.

"Oh my God," Draco hissed, running his hands violently through his hair and hunching his shoulders as if to shield himself from the noise. His mother returned from transporting the unconscious Snatchers outside and stood beside him, unflinching, her lips pressed into a firm line. Whether she was affected or not Draco couldn't tell, but he wanted to know how she _wasn't. _Draco could hear panicked shouts echoing from the cellar and he wanted to scream right along with Granger. How could his parents stand this? How could they watch a barely-of-age girl be tortured enough to make those kinds of screams? How could they casually inflict this pain on human beings every single day? It was sick. Absolutely _sick. _

Draco had no idea for how long Granger's tortured shrieks rang in his ears. He was close to tears and was biting down on his knuckles to prevent himself from screaming for Bellatrix to stop.

There was a lull in the girl's cries and a loud crack echoed from the cellar. Draco turned slightly and his stomach fell to his feet as he saw Granger lying helpless on the drawing room floor. The word Mudblood, the word he had spat her way so many times, was carved into her arm. Draco wanted to throw up. Granger's eyes slid over to meet his, and a single tear slipped into her hair as she pleaded silently with him. He squeezed his eyes shut, turning away again, breathing hard.

"What was that? Did you hear that? What was that noise from the cellar?"

Draco ignored the bewildered shouts, trying to hold onto his control. His breath shuddered in and out, and Merlin, he couldn't take this anymore. He was vaguely aware of Wormtail being sent down to investigate the noise in the cellar, but he was concentrating so hard on not sobbing out loud that he was unsure of what else was going on.

A minute or so later, Draco heard a slight scuffle from the drawing room door and turned his head. Harry and Weasley were hovering in the entrance, wands drawn. Draco's heart clenched. Oh god, what were they doing? They were going to get themselves killed _sooner, _how could Harry be so _stupid_?

Draco jumped as the goblin at Bellatrix's feet yelled, and he whirled to see Bellatrix press her finger to her Dark Mark.

The Mark on his own arm burned white-hot and he gasped, clapping a hand to it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Harry unexplainably double over, wobbling dangerously.

"And I think," Bellatrix said calmly, "we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her."

Weasley burst into the drawing room with a strangled howl. Bellatrix whipped around, shocked, but raised her wand immediately.

"_Expelliarmus!" _Harry bellowed, following right after Weasley. Bellatrix's wand flew out of her hand; Harry caught it and yelled _"Stupefy!" _Draco's father fell limply to the hearth, but Draco felt nothing but shock; he couldn't move, couldn't think anything other than _Harry what the bloody HELL are you doing? _

His mother and Greyback directed curses at Harry and, on instinct, Draco sent a protective charm flying Harry's way, but Harry threw himself behind the sofa, avoiding all three spells.

"STOP OR SHE DIES!" Bellatrix screamed, yanking the unconscious Granger up and drawing a knife to her throat. Draco froze, suddenly terrified. Oh god, he did not want to see Harry's best friend die. He had to do something, anything…

"Drop your wands," Bellatrix hissed. "Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is! I said drop them!" she screamed as Harry and Weasley hesitated. Dots of blood welled at Granger's throat and Draco's stomach churned.

"All right!" Harry yelled, and he dropped his last defense to the ground at his feet. Both he and Weasley raised their hands in surrender.

"Good! Draco, pick them up," Bellatrix commanded. "The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!"

Unable to think of anything else to do, terrified that Harry's life clock was ticking down its final minutes, _tormented_ by the fact that he could do nothing to prevent this, that all his efforts had been in vain, Draco stooped to gather the wands from the carpet.

Bellatrix continued to speak, but Draco could not hear through the roaring in his ears. God, how had it come down to this?

Suddenly, there was an odd grinding noise from above their heads, and Draco looked up to see the chandelier tremble, creak, and then start to fall. Bellatrix dropped Granger and screamed, flinging herself away from the chandelier's path to the ground. The chandelier exploded onto the floor in a spray of crystal and chains, and Draco felt shards of glass slash into his face. He cried out and doubled over, feeling blood pour into his hands.

Out of nowhere, Harry was in front of him, and his swollen face was returning to normal, and the emotion that gripped Draco's whole body almost brought tears to his eyes. Harry stared at him for one long second before wrestling the wands from Draco's bloody hand and whirling away to send a triple Stunning Spell at Greyback. Draco stood there, his cut face bleeding profusely onto the carpet, as chaos reigned throughout the room. He struggled to remember how to move. Harry had been so close, and the distance between them now was so fucking _painful. _

When Draco saw Dobby, his old house elf, he thought his overloaded brain had finally given out. He could not process this new addition; he was still reeling, unable to fully comprehend this situation. Where was he? What was he doing? What was going on?  
>There was a loud, resounding crack and a sudden silence fell upon the room. Draco blinked. Harry and his friends were gone, as well as Dobby. Disapparated? Draco nearly fell to his knees with relief.<p>

"We're all dead." Bellatrix said breathlessly and matter-of-factly. Draco's mother looked stricken. His father stirred blearily from his sprawled position on the hearth and gazed around him in a shocked sort of way as Draco's mother sank to the ground, her hand pressed to her mouth.  
>Draco did not know what to think. He knew Voldemort was coming. He knew that these might be his last moments, but he could feel nothing but fucking <em>relief,<em> because Harry had gotten away. Even if Draco could never touch him, never see him again, Harry was going to live.

And then – the worst pain Draco had ever felt in his entire life.

"_You just let him get away?" _Draco heard Voldemort scream. Draco was burning, cooking from the inside out. This was his punishment for letting Harry Potter escape death, and he would gladly take it, but fuck, he wanted to die, the pain was so extraordinary. He writhed, losing grip on where he was, who he was – why did he exist? Who was he? Why wasn't he dead? But one thing remained clear in his pain-wracked brain; when he opened his mouth to scream, it was Harry Potter's name that tumbled from his lips.


	3. Part Three

**Hey there! I'm back again with part 3 of my Drarry oneshot. Only one more chapter left. :3 **

**This chapter starts up during the battle of Hogwarts, right after the confrontation in the Room of Requirement. I was still getting the hang of Harry and Draco's personalities when I wrote this, so if they are not completely in character, again, I apologize.**

**Thanks again to all the wonderful comments and reviews left both here and on Tumblr. I really, truly appreciate it.**

**All characters belong to JK Rowling and the world of Harry Potter. **

**Enjoy!**

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><p>Draco collapsed onto the floor, shoulders heaving, white-blonde hair streaked with soot.<p>

"Crabbe," he choked. "Crabbe –"

"He's dead." Ron said harshly.

Harry watched Draco's shoulders slump in utter defeat, watched the shock play out over his ash-streaked face, and his gut twisted painfully.

"Harry…" Ron urged, backing away and raising an eyebrow at Harry. Hermione clutched the remains of the diadem in her hands, her bushy hair frizzy and singed at the tips.

"Harry, the snake?" His friends stared at him, seeing the way he shifted hesitantly on the spot. They saw how reluctant he was to leave and they were completely bewildered. All the same, when Harry muttered, "I'll be right there," and stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his sweatshirt, they left.

Goyle shuffled to his feet, his jaw clenched and his eyebrows pulled together over his beady eyes. He glared at Harry, shot a look at Draco, who was still trembling on the floor, and stalked away.

Harry stood there awkwardly, and the corridor was empty except for the two boys, silent except for the echoing bangs and cracks from the war raging just outside the hallway.

Draco couldn't raise his head from his knees, even though he _knew _that he and Harry were alone, that he _knew _Harry was looking at him. He could barely breathe, couldn't move; his whole body hurt and tears were clogging his throat. Crabbe was dead. Just… gone. He'd been towing Crabbe along with him for seven years now, and never once had he acknowledged him as anything more than a henchman, and now he was just _gone. _It stunned Draco, the finality of it; one second he was screaming for Crabbe not to kill Harry, and the next Crabbe was lost in the roar of enchanted fire. Gone.

And damn it, why was _this _always how Harry found him? Broken and vulnerable and in tears? He didn't _want _a protector; he didn't _want _someone to put him back together. But he couldn't help but lean into Harry's touch as Harry knelt beside him and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. He couldn't help but whimper a little when Harry whispered his name, his breath tickling Draco's cheek.

Harry rubbed his hand hesitantly over Draco's shoulder, fingers trembling.

"Are you…okay?" he asked softly. His body thrummed with a strange heat and his pulse raced in his throat. This was the closest he had been to Draco since the disaster at Malfoy Manor, and his whole body was yearning to press closer. It was ridiculous, really; there was a war going on. People were dying all around them, and all Harry wanted was Draco Malfoy's lips on his own. Was he really that twisted, unhealthy?

Draco gasped in and out, his breath wet with tears, and, as if abandoning his previous misgivings, grabbed at Harry's collar, yanking him forward. Harry was caught aback, off balance, and wobbled forward. Draco pressed his face into Harry's sweatshirt, his hands curled limply against Harry's chest. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's shuddering body and pressed his lips to Draco's forehead, tasting the ash that had settled on Draco's pale skin.

"Shh, it's okay," Harry murmured, stroking Draco's messy blonde hair back from his face. Draco let his head fall limply against Harry's shoulder, his panicked breath hot against the skin of Harry's throat.

"He's _gone,_" Draco mumbled flatly. Harry pulled Draco closer against his chest.

"I know," Harry breathed, cradling the dazed body's face in his hands and looking at him earnestly. He rubbed his thumb against Draco's jaw, unnerved by the glazed, numb look in Draco's silver eyes. "It's going to be okay. I'm going to end this."

Draco stirred, a dangerous fire sparking life into his eyes.

"Oh, of course," he spat, pulling free of Harry's embrace and staggering to his feet. His thin face twisted maliciously. "Of course you're going to end it. It's always you, isn't it? Precious Potter, always out to save the bloody day."

Harry got slowly to his feet. Draco's fists clenched as Harry moved closer, and Harry could nearly feel the anger rolling off the taller boy's rigid body.

"It's just go to be me," Harry said simply. But all the same, his heart sank at Draco's words. It _was _always him, wasn't it? It was always on his shoulders. Sometimes he wanted to run and hide like a scared child, but he knew such an act was impossible. It _did _have to be him; he _did _have to end this – for Ron and Hermione and the Weasleys… and for Draco. Harry could see what Voldemort had done to the once proud Slytherin boy; he could see the bones jutting out of Draco's hips and shoulders, how his cheekbones were jagged cliffsides, and how every last shred of innocence had been torn from his grasp. He had to save Draco, even if Draco did not want to be saved.

Draco stood there, chest heaving, his lean body stiff with defiance and grief, and God, the need to touch him was tearing Harry apart.

"Come _here,_" Harry snarled. He reached out and grabbed at Draco's hips, yanking the skinny boy flush up against him. He stretched up to capture Draco's lips with his own, his hand sliding around Draco's waist, and Draco's lips parted and he caught a fistful of Harry's hair with a groan.

"God, it's been too long," Draco gasped around Harry's lips. His right hand traced Harry's jaw, feeling cuts and scrapes beneath the rough stubble and _God _why did Draco find that so attractive?

Harry caught ahold of his arms and pulled him into the concealment of a hidden alcove and shoved Draco hard against the wall.

"Too _fucking_ long," Draco reiterated in a hiss, bracing his back against the wall and clutching Harry against him.

Harry exhaled hungrily into Draco's mouth and their tongues intertwined and they were both lightheaded now, each intoxicated by the other boy.

Harry tasted like smoke and copper and a hint of butterbeer, and Draco couldn't get enough. It had only been a few weeks since they had laid eyes on each other, but it had been months since they had so much as touched, and there was no way either of them had forgotten the events in the boy's bathroom or the Astronomy Tower. And bloody hell, how about the catastrophe at Malfoy Manor? The tension and desire had been through the _roof. _How could they forget, when sometimes it was all that they thought about, or was the only thing that kept them going another day?

"The Boy Who Lived," Draco sneered as Harry trailed his lips over Draco's collarbone, his fingers digging into Draco's spine. "Doesn't that get old? The nicknames? The Chosen O – oh god, _fuck!_" he yelped at Harry bit sharply at his neck to shut him up. It was an old trick, but it never failed to make Draco unravel, to turn him to butter in Harry's grip. Draco's knees knocked together and it was only Harry's strong arm around Draco's waist that prevented Draco from collapsing.

"Doesn't _that _get old?" Harry questioned, steadying Draco against the rough stone wall and grinning at him deviously. His hair was wild, his eyes smoldering. Draco raised a slim eyebrow at him, his hands twisted into the bottom of Harry's sweatshirt.

"What's that?"

Harry leaned in and his tongue flicked against Draco's ear. A low moan rumbled in Draco's throat and Harry reveled in the noise, in how easily he could tear Draco's defenses apart.

"Turning to Jell-O every time I touch you," he breathed hotly.

"Fuck _you,_" Draco groaned, pushing forward off the wall and crashing his lips to Harry's, his arms winding possessively around the shorter boy's waist.

Harry laughed deep in his throat, seized by an arrogant confidence that surprised even him.

"Don't. You. Wish."

The spark dancing between them ignited. Draco snarled and fisted his hands in Harry's hair, yanking his head back so violently that Harry cried out in pain. The sound sent a shiver through Draco's whole body and he ravaged Harry's neck with his kiss-swollen lips. He felt Harry's throat vibrate as he groaned, and God, he couldn't even _think _anymore, and remind him, what was breathing?

The boys embraced violently once more, their breath hot and heavy, blinded by the passion, the _need, _that was acute to the point of pain.

Draco struggled to get the sweatshirt over Harry's head, needing to feel Harry's bare arms wrap around him, free and unhindered by unnecessary layers of fabric. Harry helped him, ripping his arms out of the sleeves, reluctant to let go of Draco's waist for even one instant. They gasped in the same breath as Harry's sweatshirt hit the ground, leaving Harry in a slim-fitting black t-shirt. Draco ran his hands over Harry's veined and corded arms, feeling the muscles under Harry's skin, and he couldn't _stand _it; he dug his fingers into Harry's biceps, throwing his head back with a wild groan.

Harry grinned, entranced by Draco's reaction, watching the muscles in Draco's throat clench as the taller boy almost came apart at the seams.

Harry leaned forward and kissed the divot in Draco's collarbone, running his hands over Draco's chest and down to his belt, fingers hooking into the waistband of Draco's black uniform pants.

"God, what do you _do _to me?" Draco moaned, seeking out Harry's lips once more. He nearly bruised his lower lip on Harry's teeth with the urgency in which he smashed their mouths together. Harry's tongue slipped into Draco's mouth and Draco bit down, tasting the tang of blood and _fuck,_ every inch of their skin was on fire.

The could scarcely draw breath anymore, as Harry's thumb slipped on Draco's hip, sliding under the waistband of his pants, and oh God, Draco couldn't get close enough, couldn't hold Harry tight enough, couldn't kiss him hard enough. Their movements were jerky, violent, their senses dulled with lust, and they were losing their balance, their feet fumbling on the ground, and they abruptly lost their footing, toppling right into the suit of armor that also occupied the alcove.

The banging and crashing was so loud that Harry was surprised that Voldemort hadn't heard it and rushed to the scene to finish him off once and for all.

Draco's head smacked sharply against the statue's pedestal as they landed in a tangle of sweaty limbs, and the sound echoed in the wake of the clattering metal.

"Son of a BITCH!" Draco shouted, unable to free his arm from under Harry's elbow to check with point of impact. Indeed, Draco wasn't exactly in a position to be moving anywhere. Their fall had caused Harry to land on top of Draco, basically straddling his torso, and, while this was not a bad thing in either of the boys' eyes, they could hear footsteps coming their way and this was not exactly a prime position to be discovered in.

"Don't move!" Harry gasped, fumbling in his pocket for his Invisibility Cloak.

"What're you - ?" Draco began, but Harry shushed him and flung the cloak over both of them and lay forward on Draco's chest to make sure it covered them completely.

They lay utterly still as the footsteps drew ever nearer, trying to muffle their still-ragged breathing. The concealing tapestry was pulled back and two masked Death Eaters peered in, their wands raised.

Harry was calm, knowing that if they kept silent they would go undiscovered, but Draco had only ever heard of Harry's infamous Invisibility Cloak – he had never experienced the bizarre sensation of being two feet away from someone – in what should have been plain sight – but go unseen. His hand clutched nervously at Harry's hip, and Harry was suddenly all-too aware of those fingers against his skin; they were both still tingling with desire, and Harry tried not to pay attention to just how close they really were, the fact that he could feel every single line of Draco's bony frame beneath him, and dear God if he didn't stop thinking about that he was going to do something that would give away their position completely.

After a few moments, the Death Eaters shrugged at each other and let the tapestry fall back, muttering something about stray jinxes and poor aim.

Neither boy moved, even after they were sure the Death Eaters were long gone.

"Why didn't I think of this before?" Harry whispered into Draco's collarbone. "The Cloak. We could have snuck away so many times, kept hidden…."

Draco sighed, bringing up his other hand to stroke lightly at Harry's temple. "I wish we didn't have to hide," he admitted in a barely audible whisper. Harry froze. This was the first time Draco Malfoy had said anything sincere and heartfelt – it was so startling, so uncharacteristic of the haughty Draco Malfoy, and Harry wasn't sure how to react. His heart was in his throat, aching fit to burst. Draco didn't say anything else. He just sighed.

Harry twisted his head to look up at Draco. The blonde didn't meet his gaze – he stared pointedly up at the gabled ceiling through the silvery film of the cloak, tears glittering faintly in his eyes. Harry didn't say anything either – he simply raised himself on his elbows, leaned in, and kissed Draco so softly and sweetly that it was all Draco could do not to burst into heartbroken tears.

Harry drew back slightly, so that their noses were just touching and their breath was still mingling, and brushed his fingers gently over Draco's lips.

"Maybe after all this is over, we won't have to hide," he whispered. Draco refused to meet his gaze, but his hand tightened on Harry's hip.

Draco didn't want Harry to leave. He needed him now, as much as he hated to admit it. He needed his touch, his warmth. But Harry had to leave, and the loss of his warm body weight was almost physically painful to Draco.

Harry slowly rolled the cloak into a ball and tucked it back into his pocket before just standing there, biting his lip. Draco slowly eased himself into a sitting position, rubbing the back of his head ruefully.

"I should go," Harry whispered after a moment of silence. Draco nodded curtly, gazing down at the floor. Harry hesitated for a moment longer, and then he knelt down in front of Draco, slipping his hand behind Draco's neck. It was Draco who leaned in this time, his pale lips parting to meet Harry's, and their kiss burned with the taste of so many unsaid words.

"Stay safe," Harry murmured against Draco's mouth. Draco inhaled, breathing Harry in one last time before Harry was gone, leaving the tapestry swinging behind him. Draco sat there, his shoulders shuddering, and Harry strode away, his fingers locked tight on the handle of his wand, his jaw clenched.

It wasn't until they were both sure that the other boy had gone that they let the tears fall.


	4. Part Four

**I now present the last chapter in my little jaunt in the world of Drarry! I had so much fun writing this, and it was an absolute pleasure to hear all the wonderful feedback people were nice enough to leave me. 3**

**This starts up fairly close to where the last chapter left off; the battle of Hogwarts is about to come to a head, and we get a glimpse of Draco's perspective, which was a lot of fun to write.**

**Anyway, I sincerely hope you enjoy this. **

**All characters belong to JK Rowling and the world of Harry Potter.**

* * *

><p>The Great Hall was filled with the dead, except for one lone blonde figure slumped on the floor by the head table. His silver eyes were blank, his pale hands curled limply on the ground by his sides.<p>

Draco Malfoy was the only one who breathed in the silent hall, and he wasn't sure he wanted to continue to do so much longer.

Harry Potter was dead. Draco had seen his body himself, limp and lifeless in the harms of the half-Giant, Hagrid. Draco had only stood there for a moment, heart seeming to shudder to a stop in his chest, before he fled, shoving through the panicking crowd, unable even to cry, forging forward to the only place that was deserted.

That is, except for the bodies. Draco's eyes roamed vaguely over the rows and rows of the dead, not quite seeing them but very aware of them. Harry was in the same place as they were now, the wizards and witches who had laid down their lives for the Chosen One – all for nothing?

Draco could still feel every word of Voldemort's victorious speech echo on his eardrums; he could still hear the anguished cries of and screams of Harry's friends, the ones who were allowed to shout Harry's name, _allowed _to wail their loss.

Draco could not. He'd had to remain silent, impassive, numb shock rooting him to the spot. He had been forced to stand there like a human statue, tracing every line of Harry's lifeless face with his eyes, because if he reacted the way he'd wanted to, that would have been the end of it.

Harry's glasses had been askew, his lips slightly parted, and Draco had imagined that they were still swollen from their stolen kisses in the alcove on the seventh floor.

That had really been it, hadn't it? The last time Draco would kiss Harry's chapped lips, feel the lean muscles of Harry's arms under his fingertips, the last…everything.

Draco imagined that he could still taste Harry's tongue in his mouth and he squeezed his eyes shut, barely able to breathe.

This was it. Forever. Draco really had seen Harry for the last time. Harry was gone, and Draco hadn't even said goodbye.

What would Voldemort do with the body? String it up, most likely – a trophy of the deed he had been fighting to do for years on end. Draco's stomach rolled at the thought. How had it happened, he wondered as his head sank onto his knees; was it how Voldemort had said? Draco doubted it – Harry would never run. He'd been playing the hero since they had first arrived at Hogwarts – Draco remembered how irritating it had been, watching him prance around the school like a goddamned unicorn – until the irritation had morphed into interest, and then intrigue, and then…more.

And God, why wasn't he crying? He was supposed to cry, wasn't he? But he was empty inside – there were no feelings, no emotions. He was just _numb. _

There was commotion from the grounds and entrance hall – people were screaming, and the cracks and bangs of spells echoed into the Great Hall. Draco raised his head, his brow creasing slightly. He wondered vaguely what was going on before he realized that he didn't care at all.

A crowd was starting to pour into the Great Hall; Death Eaters and Hogwartians were dueling furiously, spells rebounding madly off the walls, people falling everywhere, but the screams were nothing compared to Voldemort's, whose rage was _incredible. _He was whirling back and forth, his wand slashing like a blade, forcing people back like a tidal wave. Why was he so angry? Hadn't he gotten what he had wanted at long last?

Draco got unsteadily to his feet, not bothering to draw his wand, just wanting for everyone to shut up, to leave. He backed away from the advancing crowd, his eyes scanning the commotion angrily. How were there so many bloody _people_?

His attention was diverted when he saw his parents force themselves past the edge of the madhouse and sprint towards him, screaming his name.

He wasn't sure what to do as they neared him, so he just stood there as they crashed into him, sobbing. They gathered him close, his mother pressing kisses all over his face and his father grasping his shoulder, crying silently into his hair.

Draco embraced them both, but he still couldn't _feel. _It was like he was drowning, trapped in an ocean of not feeling, and he wondered how long it would take for him to actually die in this metaphorical underworld.

And then – the breath of life.

Harry. He saw Harry, his wand drawn, and the sea of bodies was parting, rippling back from The Boy Who Lived and Voldemort as they advanced on each other.

Harry. Harry was alive. Harry was not dead. Harry was breathing, moving, talking, from the looks of it, but Draco couldn't hear past the roaring in his ears.

His parents still clutched at him, backing up to the very fringes of the swollen crowd, and he still hugged them with numb hands, but they weren't there to him. There was no one but Harry, as he and Voldemort began slowly circling each-other. Draco could not hear a word that they were saying, even though the Great Hall had fallen almost completely silent, could not focus on anything but the flush of life in Harry's cheeks, how his chest moved as he breathed, how he was _solid, _unafraid; Harry had gone to death and returned, and he looked absolutely fearless as he stared his enemy down. Draco could not tear his eyes away for an instant, even though his parents were whispering frantically at him, asking if he were wounded or damaged or something – Draco was drowning again, but this time in Harry and his life.

Time held no meaning for Draco as he watched Harry breathlessly, yearning to push through the silent crowd and throw his arms around the Chosen One, but, even as drunk on the sight of Harry as he was, Draco knew that the final battle had come to a head, and that Harry must be left alone, to prove once and for all who he really was.

There were a few more words from the pair in the center of the hall, a sudden, violent explosion of spells, and then, abruptly, it was over.

Voldemort lay dead in the middle of the Great Hall, and the crowd exploded. Draco lost sight of Harry as everyone surged forward, screaming and crying and cheering, struggling just to touch Harry, to connect with him, The Boy Who Lived, the young wizard who had finally defeated Lord Voldemort. Draco only wished that he could do the same, but his parents still had a hold on him and his mother said, "Draco, we should go. Let's go home."

"Not yet," he pleaded. "Not yet, please."

Harry sat at one of the house tables, next to Luna, drained and exhausted, picking absently at the treacle tart someone had placed in front of him.

"Draco Malfoy is looking for you," Luna said dreamily, toying with the radish necklace at her throat.

Harry jerked upright, nearly sending his plate flying.

"What? Where?" Luna did not comment on his sudden interest in Draco Malfoy, nor did she make any indication that she found anything suspicious.

"He asked me where you were a little while ago. He did look a bit frantic," she added.  
>"Where was he?" Harry craned his neck around, his eyes scanning the mess of people in the hall.<p>

Draco. How had he forgotten about Draco? Even in the wake of all that had happened? Draco, the one who had given him something to dream of when he, Ron and Hermione were hunting Horcruxes; Draco, the one who had been all he could think of as he walked through the forest towards his death; Draco, the one whose mere name could make Harry feel completely alive again; Draco, his enemy turned…what? Was there really a word to describe the pair of them, and their unusual, closeted, physical, usually violent relationship? Draco was just _Draco _to Harry, and Harry wanted to kick himself for how he had just let the boy slip out of his mind.

Luna gestured vaguely around the hall. "Oh, somewhere around here," she said, rather unhelpfully, but this was Luna, and Harry was used to not getting straight answers out of her. He patted her shoulder and got up, abandoning his treacle tart. He began to weave through the clusters of people, smiling absentmindedly when they pressed his hand and whispered their thanks.

Finally, Harry saw him. Draco was standing with his mother and father in the furthest corner of the Great Hall, his lips pressed together into a grim line.

Harry walked right up to them, and when he saw the emotions flash in Draco's eyes it was so hard not to take the pale boy into his arms right then and there.

"Potter," Lucius Malfoy said curtly, his eyes deeply sunken into their sockets. Harry nodded back at him, but he could barely take his eyes off Draco. He could feel the yearning to touch, thrumming tension in the air between them.

"You did good," Narcissa Malfoy whispered, extending a slim, delicate hand for Harry to shake. Her eyes were brimming with tears and silent thanks - even in the wake of everything, she had not forgotten their exchange in the forest, and neither had he.

"Thank you," Harry said politely. He allowed a smile smile at her; he knew she would understand his gratitude. "Would you mind if I had a word with Draco?"

The elder Malfoys looked confused but nodded, and Draco stepped forward, his eyes screaming with all the things he couldn't say just yet.

Harry nodded his thanks and turned away, striding quickly back across the hall, hearing Draco's hasty footsteps behind him.

Draco couldn't take his eyes off all the lines in Harry's back, memorizing the way he walked, how his hands were trembling, rigid by his sides.

They brushed by the well-wishers, making their way into the entrance hall, and Harry pulled open the door to the nearest broom closet, gesturing for Draco to go inside.

Draco rushed in and whirled to face Harry as the door swung shut behind them.

Up close, Harry was not as vibrant with life as he had been before. The again, Draco might have simply imagined the glow in Harry's cheeks and the fire in his eyes – after all, he had been rejoicing in the fact that Harry was not dead – perhaps his imagination got a bit colorful.

"You're not dead," Draco said. Foolish – there was a whole world of words and those were the ones he chose?

Harry half-smiled. "No, I'm not dead."

Draco was almost afraid to reach out to Harry, so he kept his hands by his sides, his fingers tingling. "How?"

Harry sighed, the shadows under his eyes sharply pronounced in the dim lighting. "Bit of a long story."

The uncertainty was almost visible in the air.

"Can I…" Draco whispered, biting his lip, "Can I… touch you?"

Harry's eyes filled with tears. "Please?" he croaked.

Draco lunged forward, throwing his arms around Harry's neck. Harry locked his arms around Draco's slender waist, holding him so tightly Draco feared his ribs would crack. But it didn't matter; he could fear Harry's heart beating against his chest, and Harry was _alive _and holding onto him, and it was all Draco could do not to dissolve into tears right then and there.

"God, you can't leave me again," he gasped into Harry's scruffy hair. "Please, you can't ever do that again, please, promise me…"

"I won't," Harry said breathlessly, his face pressed into Draco's neck. Draco clutched at him like a lifeline, holding on dearly to the boy he loved and – wait. Loved? The term had scarcely been used in Draco's vocabulary before. Sure, he loved money, and he loved his soft, comfortable life until it had been stolen away from him, but "love" in reference to a person, especially a _boy_, Harry Potter…?

Draco was terrified by this thought.

And yet… as he held Harry Potter in his arms and felt his tears on Draco's shoulder, Draco was more content that he had ever been in his entire life. Just feeling Harry's breath on his skin was enough to set his heart aflutter, to plant butterflies in his stomach. Harry occupied every nook and cranny of Draco's brain, every day, _constantly, _and – Draco was absolutely _terrified _to admit this to even himself – he was in love with Harry Potter.

Why had it taken the shadow of death for Draco to figure it out? He could answer that forhimself - because he had been afraid, petulant; too up tight and proud to realize what his heart had been trying to tell him. He was in love with Harry Potter, and he would rather sit on a Blast Ended Skrewt than ever let Harry slip through his fingers again.

"Please kiss me," Harry begged against Draco's shoulder. Right, like he was doing to say _no_?

Draco cradled Harry's face in his hands, tilting the shorter boy's head up so that his hair fell in an inky mess back from his forehead, exposing his famed lightning scar. He gazed down at Harry, their eyes meeting without wavering, and Draco almost lost himself in those pools of liquid emerald. Almost, but not quite; he kept his head enough to gather his courage and whisper, "I love you," tantalizingly against Harry's lips.

"I know," Harry said without a second's hesitation. He had always known; it was as simple as that.

Draco's eyes widened slightly, and then neither of them could take it anymore.

Harry's fingers caught roughly at Draco's jaw, drawing him in. Draco parted his lips against Harry's and passion burned like the hottest of wildfires, searing the boys' skin with heat.

Harry's tongue slithered immediately through Draco's teeth and he grabbed fistfuls of the Slytherin's shirt, pulling him close. Draco traced every line of Harry's face with his fingertips, memorizing every texture, every detail, locking it away into his memory. Harry's hands caught at Draco's hips, fingers squeezing, and Draco moaned hotly into Harry's mouth.

Draco dropped his hands to Harry's stomach, pushing Harry's shirt up to his chest, running his palms over Harry's tightly muscled abdomen. Harry's hands slid around Draco's waist, dangerously close to the waistband of Draco's pants. Draco pushed against Harry's chest, forcing the smaller boy backwards until the sharp edge of a storage bin dug into Harry's spine. Harry leaned back against the rough wood of the bin, breathing heavily. Draco pushed even closer, his knee slipping between Harry's legs and pressed hot, heavy kisses to Harry's neck and shoulders, occasionally catching Harry's skin between his teeth, eliciting pleasurably tormented groans from the scruffy haired boy in his arms.

Draco reveled in those noises, because he knew that _he _was the one making Harry groan like that, _he _was the one pushing Harry to the point of no return, _he _was the one Harry was in love with, and no one else.

Harry dug his fingers into the skin of Draco's waist and let his head fall limply backwards with a sigh. Draco trailed his lips up Harry's throat, dragging his tongue in a slick, wet line over Harry's jaw. Harry shuddered and goosebumps pimpled his skin. His eyes rolled back into his head a bit and the noise that rumbled from his throat made Draco's stomach clench and heat flash over every inch of his skin.

Needing Harry as _close _as fucking possible, Draco hooked his hands around the back of Harry's thighs and lifted him up to place him on the edge of the storage bin, bringing them to the same height. Draco pressed in close between Harry's knees, one hand pulling Harry's legs around Draco's waist and the other balled tightly in the black fabric of Harry's t-shirt.

Harry hooked his knees on Draco's hipbones and his ankles behind Draco's back and knotted his fingers in Draco's now-messy blonde hair. They were so close that Harry could feel Draco's heart pounding frantically against his own chest. The sensation was absolutely exhilarating; Harry was intoxicated by Draco, by every fucking _thing_ about Draco. As they kissed hungrily, Harry opened his eyes just a crack to survey Draco, to see the way the blonde's eyelashes brushed lightly against his cheekbones, the way his skin flushed with the faintest pink, the way he seemed to _glow _when he kissed Harry, as if he were drowning and Harry was a breath of air. God, he was… beautiful. Harry had never thought of another boy as beautiful before; it seemed to be a coveted term for attractive girls, but Harry had never seen anyone as fucking _beautiful _as Draco Malfoy. And Merlin's pants, he just needed Draco closer, but it was almost physically impossible for them to get closer than they were now, as Draco's fingers slid over Harry's belt buckle, and…_oh. _

"Too much to handle, Potter?" Draco smirked as Harry let his head fall back with a ragged gasp. For some reason, hearing his surname slipping off of Draco's tongue so softly and sweetly made it sound almost obscene to Harry – like Draco was whispering the dirtiest curse in the world into Harry's ear – and Harry was enthralled and his stomach was clenching and unclenching in rhythm to the way Draco was rolling his hips against Harry's and oh _god. _

Harry couldn't get Draco's shirt unbuttoned fast enough, because he needed to feel the boy's bare skin under his fingertips, really _feel _him, bare and exposed, the way he had never been to anyone but Harry.

"Slow yourself, darling," Draco hissed, and my god, how had he become so vindictive in just a minute or so, how did he revel in Harry's distress to the point of taunting, when, truth be told, Draco wanted Harry exposed just as much as Harry wanted it the other way around? Draco's mind was clouded, his heart was pounding in his fucking _brain,_ and he was enjoying teasing Harry so much that it was borderline psychotic.

"No need to get your panties in a twist," Draco crooned as Harry ripped Draco's shirt open, even though he shivered as chilly air pressed against his skin. Harry glared at him with lust-filled eyes for the briefest moment before pressing his lips hungrily to Draco's chest.

"Don't bother answering me," Draco continued, and Merlin above, where was this _coming _from? "Just fuck my chest with your mouth - whatever suits your fancy, Potter."

Draco's dirty talk was fueling the fire coursing through Harry's whole body, pushing him to the edge.

"Will – you – shut – up?" Harry growled, dragging Draco's mouth to his and pulling angrily on Draco's bottom lip. "And don't act like you don't like it, _Malfoy._" he added harshly, and oh, okay, Draco got it now, how the use of Harry's surname had melted him into butter because Draco couldn't even breathe anymore and the jumble of nonsense and curses that tumbled from his lips as Harry's hand slid below the waistband of Draco's pants was so far from the haughty, dignified insults he'd been tossing out not thirty seconds ago that it was fucking _hysterical. _

Draco's shirt slipped off one shoulder, exposing the jutting bones of his collarbone and the lean, corded muscles of his arm and Harry traced a fingertip over all the ridges of Draco's exposed skin, his head reeling from the angled, silky smooth _perfection _of that skin.

"How," he gasped, fully removing Draco's shirt and dropping it carelessly to the dusty floor, "Are you so fucking perfect?"

Draco, barely clinging on to the end of his rope, whisked Harry into his arms and turned to deposit Harry gently on the ground before straddling him and kissing him so hard and deep that Harry's head nearly whirled right off his shoulders. Draco pushed his fingers under Harry's shirt once more, running his hands over Harry's stomach and hips, his lips never ceasing their slow, steady movement against Harry's.

Harry pushed Draco to the side, rolling to that now he was the one straddling Draco's waist, his glasses dangling off the edge of his nose, feeling and loving and _wanting _more than he ever had in his entire _life. _On a sudden impulse, he fumbled in his pocket for his wand, breaking his lips away from Draco's to perform a few protective spells over the broom closet.

"What're you doing?" Draco panted, his cheeks pinker than ever, frowning slightly. He wanted Harry's lips back, damn it.

"I don't want to be interrupted this time." Harry said simply, and then he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it away. Draco's breath hitched at the sight of Harry's bare chest, of his _skin_ – and he laughed.

Harry paused, halfway bent forward, and raised a single eyebrow. God, even that little action was fucking _sexy _to Draco.

"We're in a broom closet," Draco said, snickering helplessly. He pressed one hand to his mouth, trying to smother the irrational laughter, because he was completely running the moment. But oh my god, he was laughing because he knew that _this _was _the _moment – Harry didn't want them to be interrupted, and they were halfway undressed, and Draco was no idiot – he knew exactly where this was headed, and, despite his facade of confidence, he was a bit scared. But when Harry gently pulled Draco's hand away from his mouth to place the sweetest of all kisses on Draco's parted lips and whispered, "I don't care. I love you," that was all it took. Draco pulled Harry to him with a wild gasp, his hands pulling at Harry's belt, and he wasn't scared anymore because he loved Harry Potter, he was in _love _with him, and he trusted him, and nothing really mattered but Harry's warm, solid hands on his bare, eager skin.

Harry yanked off his glasses and tossed them in the vicinity of his shirt because they were starting to dig painfully into the bridge of his nose. His sight really was awful without the things, but it was somehow enthralling for Draco to be a blur underneath him, for the swift kisses to his jaw and sharp bites to his shoulder to be completely unexpected and surprising, and Harry just stopped trying to squint and closed his eyes completely, letting Draco take over.

The passion was burning hotter than a dragon's flame and neither Harry nor Draco could _wait _anymore; they were in love and alone and _alive _and the _want _was so intense, so overwhelming, that, finally, their bodies and clothes tangled separately on the floor of the broom closet and they unraveled in each-other's arms, lost in the touch of each-other's skin and in the sharp, panting "I love you"s that lingered in the air.

**the end.**


End file.
